Where Miss Snark vented her wrath on the hapless world of writers and crushed them to sand beneath her T.Rexual heels of stiletto snark. The blog is dark--no further updates after 5/20/2007.

1.20.2007

In The Beginning

One day Miss Snark was minding her business, giving her ficus tree its daily watering and bemoaning the Ginmaker's Strike when a query arrived at her door:

Dear Agent:

I wrote a fiction novel. It is 183,000 words and is about a boy and his cat who get abducted by aliens and go to live on the planet Zicam. I know you don't represent science fiction, but I think you will make an exception for my book because I put years into deciding on the perfect font and I used a spellchecker.

Call me and we'll arrange terms of contract.

Sincerely,

Alfred E. Neuman

"Hark! What's this!?" Miss Snark barked. "I've had it with these nitwit writers, they don't know anything! I can't handle it anymore. Since the Ginmaker's Strike, I just can't cope."

"Yap!" cried the poodle.

"I know! I'll start a blog, like everybody else in the world and get this off my chest!"

"Yap!" cried the poodle.

"I can't put my name on it, though, 'cause you can only snark in private. In public everything has to be gumdrops and lollipops, fluffy clouds and that awful glitter these numskulls keep sticking in their queries to grab my attention."

"Yap!" cried the poodle.

"I'll start an anonymous blog. I'll give myself an anonymous name and post my anonymous rants. Nobody will pay any attention, but I'll go and post there whenever something annoys me and it will be my little secret. My little, obscure secret. And once the gin deliveries are back on a regular schedule, I'll close it down and nobody will be the wiser. It won't take any time at all."

"No. No time at all. No time at all..." Miss Snark stroked the poodle, while those little Fairies who sprinkle Doomsday Dust over our best laid plans flitted from one corner to the next dropping unicorn stickers as they went.

22 comments:

In the beginning, Miss Snark created her blog. And the blog was without form. And the spirit of Miss Snark moved upon the face of the blogosphere. And Miss Snark said, "Let there be a crapometer." And there was a crapometer.

And now we all worship at St. Snark of the Flaming Tresses. The door is never locked, there is no entrance fee, but there is a possibilty our souls will be mercilessly crushed by a sharp stilletto if we do not demonstrate good writing and good sportsmanship. Forgive us, St. Snark, for we have sinned, some of us for far more than 750 words....